Page 4 of Fated By Fire

Is she staring past the camera?Like she saw something coming.

I suppress a shudder and turn back to my screen. My fingers move as if they have a mind of their own. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve typed out a response.

Assignment accepted. Provide info.

I attach my bank details and hit send.

Barely a minute later, my phone buzzes with a wire transfer notification:$20,000.00 – Blackthorn Consulting.

Fuck. That was fast.

It’s followed shortly by another ping from my email. I click open the message and run my eyes over the contents. No message this time. Just a string of attachments. I open the first one.

Let’s see what kind of mess I’ve gotten myself into this time.

Chapter 2

Caleb

The view from my window is spectacular—it should be, considering my penthouse office has unobstructed lines of sight across the whole of Seattle. But I’m not interested in the view today. To be honest, I rarely am. There’s always something more important to do than stare out of the window.

I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under my weight, and stare at the stack of documents spread across the walnut desk. My fingers trace the scorch marks ingrained in the wood—a permanent reminder of the last time I let my temper slip.

Control,I remind myself.Always control.

The NyxCorp hostile takeover sits at the top of the stack. On paper, it’s a win. Craven Industries now owns 51% of their shares, and the board’s thrilled. But something about it feels wrong. Too clean. Too easy. NyxCorp barely fought back. It’s as if theywantedto get caught.

I flip through the files again, my left palm scalding the pages. A wisp of smoke curls from my cuff, and I grimace, shoving the file away.

“Morning sunshine,” a voice drawls from the doorway.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s Dorian. My brother’s too-casual tone grates on my nerves, but I keep my expression neutral as he saunters into the room, a tumbler of whiskey already in hand.

“It’s 6:30,” I say flatly.

“And yet, here we are.” He leans against the doorframe, swirling the amber liquid. “You know, most CEOs sleep occasionally. Might do wonders for your personality.”

“Funny, coming from you.” I glance at the security feeds muted on the wall screen. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

He smirks. “Mourning your charisma at the Viper Room. Just got back, actually.” He angles his wrist to glance at his Rolex. “Might be time for bed.”

For fuck’s sake.

I grit my teeth. Dorian’s been dodging me for weeks, and it’s getting harder to ignore the gossip about his all-night partying sessions and wild behavior.

“We need to talk,” I say.

“We’re talking now.”

“About NyxCorp.”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, and I catch the fleeting flare of gold in his pupils.

“What about them?” he asks too casually. He’s the one who put the damn deal together. If it’s a bust, it’s on him.

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